


Anything Less

by irene_addling



Category: Castle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irene_addling/pseuds/irene_addling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It reminds him of when he couldn't get air in his lungs for a different reason. Post-"Knockout".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything Less

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by coffeebuddha's "A Cold and Broken Hallelujah". Not mine, don't sue.

Before it all falls apart, it starts with a picture.

Or maybe not. Maybe even if they hadn't interviewed that suspect, Lockwood would have found Montgomery anyway, maybe the Captain would have confessed, maybe this or maybe that. What sickens Kevin about all the maybes is that he realizes that it suddenly all fits. As much as he wants to believe this isn't happening, Montgomery is the puzzle piece none of them could seem to click into place, and now the case is logical like they've always wanted it to be.

Sometimes he hates logic, he thinks as he chases Esposito out of the bar.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Before Castle, before the office hookup pool, before Jenny and before Esplanie, it started with a shirt.

Or maybe not. Maybe even if a handful of Javier's clothes hadn't ended up in his closet, it would have started anyway. Maybe with a sparring match that ended on the floor (that was the first time it wasn't behind a locked door), maybe with a case gone wrong (they'd gotten to the asshole of a pedophile two seconds too late, and that was the first night they slept together without sleeping together), maybe with a trick or a joke or a trap or a prank or a dare or a distraction. Either way, it's happening now, and that's all that matters.

They do it to blow off steam, to fool around, because they're both single losers so why not experiment? They do it because they've worked together since the Academy, so it's not awkward like it would be with someone else. They do it for enough reasons to justify it. The justifications mean they don't have the sexuality crisis that's expected. The justifications make things easier, round and symmetrical, a full puzzle picture.

The justifications mean that when Kevin falls asleep in Javier's bed, sated and with one of Javier's arms thrown over his waist, he doesn't wonder about what's happening. He just lets it linger for as long as possible, happy for the time being, knowing it will end (the sex, the kissing, the look in Javier's eyes that he likes to think is reserved for only him) and trying not to think about the latter.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It's dark and misty in the alley, and emotions are running hot, and he snaps. Or maybe Esposito snaps first, by punching him, but he's not sure that counts because it doesn't have the subtext he just violated. He couldn't help it—the truth, cold and hard and difficult to accept but the truth, is staring Esposito (Javier) in the face and he refuses to swallow it because of twisted fucking hero worship.

So he throws Esposito against the wall, but Esposito manages to overpower him and twist around and suddenly Kevin finds himself pinned and breathing heavily.

It reminds him of when he couldn't get air in his lungs for a different reason.

That period's been behind them for going on three years; they still don't ever mention it. They never mentioned it, even when it was happening. (It is deserving of italics.) He doesn't know why he's suddenly getting flashbacks, but Esposito's (Javier's) fist is an inch from his face and he's staring at Ryan (he used to call him Kevin) like he's got the answers to not only Montgomery's facade but the universe, too.

The denial stops, he can see it in Javier's eyes, and Esposito detangles himself and leans against the wall next to Kevin. They inhale and exhale together, this time controlling emotions instead of hormones (and god, Kevin learned the hard way it was too easy to mix the two up).

"Beckett," he says, and they're back to reality.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

He thinks Beckett suspects, sometimes. It's the little things that make him wonder. A wink at the two of them looks a bit too devilish. She seems to come up with stupid excuses to leave them alone. The one time they hug in front of her (just between bros, they said), they pulled away and saw her looking at them critically. Like she was looking for something.

Then he reassures himself that suspecting and knowing are two different things, and they make their living on that manifesto.

(And if she's looking for something, she'll have trouble finding it, anyway, because this has made them damn good actors.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"No one outside of this immediate family needs to know. To the rest of the world, Roy Montgomery died a hero."

The feeling is raw in the room, the way the four of them are staring each other down, like they're hoping the Captain will suddenly pop out of the kitchen and go "sorry for the scare!" It's futile, and if it had any chance of actually happening hoping would seem silly. It's like they don't have anything to cling to anymore.

In the case of Castle and Beckett, they can't even cling to each other. The assumptions had lost the (as Lanie put it) "fangirl-shipper glee" of the days the precinct would make an office pool on their first kiss, but Kevin's common sense told him this, rough as it was, might rope the two together. They're barely looking at each other. He can tell something had gone down recently, but Kevin can't seem to snatch it.

He's actually sort of glad in a sick, subconscious way. Because if Beckett and Castle were a couple, where did that leave him and Javier? Tagalongs? Those two guys?

(Something else?)

Although there's three others to share the weight of hell with him, Kevin feels like he might as well try to forget like Beckett. It just seems easier.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"What are we doing, man?"

"Eating cheesecake?"

"No. I mean, what are we doing, doing?"

"Eating strawberry cheesecake. Damn good strawberry cheesecake at that."

Esposito grabs his face and pulls him in for a rough kiss, pulling all the dirty tricks he knows will make him reel and whine, and it's only when he pulls away that Kevin realizes they're in the (thankfully empty) break room at the precinct. Fuck.

"That. What. Was. That? What are we?"

It's on the tip of his tongue, that unnamable something, it's coming out (no pun intended) it's going, it's...

"Stop mooching on my cheesecake, you two."

Beckett walks in then, waving vaguely in their direction, too immersed in her fiftieth reread of "Heat Wave" to care much about her precious cheesecake. Esposito glowers at her.

"Does she read any other books?"

"She has that copy signed. I think she would marry it if she could."

"Signed?"

"She's met the author." Kevin takes his last bite of cheesecake and dumps the paper plate into the trash, checking his watch with a sigh. Lunch break over. "Back to phone records?"

"We're talking later," Esposito mutters, in a low tone so Beckett won't hear. He seems to be implying "at-my-apartment later."

They never end up talking.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It's Castle's yell that tips him off. He can't really see the bullet flying through the air; that's something for the Matrix to claim credit for. But suddenly Beckett's looking down at her stomach with an expression that's almost confused, and she falls and there's screams and Castle rushes to her side. And he can do nothing but stand there, sweating in his uniform and panicking, watching wide-eyed.

He can feel Javier's eyes on him, can see Castle whispering something to Beckett, and he can somehow tell what Javier's thinking without even trying.

(Maybe because he's thinking it, too.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He'd been shot in his calve, near an important artery, but fortunately the killer had an excellent sense of karma (or maybe just bad aim). A few centimeters over, and he'd have bleed out before Esposito could whip out his phone to dial 911. Instead, he's operated on and discharged with antibiotics and desk duty a week later.

Javier walks up to his desk at the precinct. "Good to have you back, man."

He picks up a pen and grumbles. "The paperwork says otherwise, but thanks."

"Seriously, though. I was freaking out there." He looks up from the first form, and Javier's giving him that look again. "I thought you were going to die."

He doesn't like to think about it, but when that bullet had hit him in the alley, Javier had been freaking out. The perp had fled, leaving just him choking on his own pain, and Javier had pulled his head in his lap and dialed 911 and muttered things like "hold on" and "stay" and "you better not die, you asshole".

Things like "I need you". That had been a damn memorable one.

He lets himself think that the last one had been heat-of-the moment panic, because when your partner and best friend is bleeding in a dark alley you don't have time to think of pithy quotes. But maybe that's what terrifies him the most, that Javier didn't even have to think to say that, that it stumbled out in raw emotion. They have a lot of unspoken rules (no one at the precinct can know, if they meet a girl it stops, it's always at Kevin's place), but perhaps the biggest one is "this is casual". They're not boyfriends. They don't date. They just justify.

Javier had stopped justifying, and now they're choking on the unspoken.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Only Lanie and Castle get in the ambulance with Beckett, Lanie because she's still doing chest compressions ("I'm a trained medical professional, don't tell me to fucking move over!") and Castle because he's still clutching her hand like it's his tie to the world and life itself. The four of them—him and Esposito and Martha and Alexis—stare at the vehicle as it leaves. Shock is still in the air. Martha shuffles Alexis towards their car, murmuring gently. Only Alexis is crying, like only she's processed it, or maybe because she's the only one whose stage of life still lets her cry on cue.

Javier reaches down and grabs his wrist, waits for two seconds of hesitation. Then it's his hand, the sort of PDA they used to think didn't apply to them (mainly because they didn't do the "A", just the "D", and the latter only in Javier's bedroom).

That's when Kevin realized they had always been playing god.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Hey, you wanna come over and watch the game tonight?"

Kevin doesn't meet Javier's eyes. "Sorry, man. I've got a date."

Javier whistles. "Well, this is news. Blind?"

He shrugs. "Nah. Friend of a friend. She sounds nice enough." He studies another pile of paperwork. "I'm thinking of taking her to a movie."

"Good for you, man," Esposito says, patting his shoulder awkwardly (it shouldn't be awkward). "Have fun. But if whatsername bombs, invite's still open."

He walks back towards his desk, and Kevin suddenly feels a need to clarify.

"Jenny. Her name's Jenny."

Javier turns around, and it's the last time he gets that look, the one from late nights and a blood-splattered alley. The next time he sees it on Esposito's face, he's looking at Lanie.

They haven't screwed since the shooting, but somehow that look feels more final. They're done here.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Esposito had come in Lanie's car and hadn't gotten key privileges for it yet, so Ryan offered him a ride to the hospital. As a friendly gesture.

They get in, close the doors and lock them, but Ryan can't seem to make himself stick his key into the ignition. It's a picture show across his eyelid, the bullet and the blood and even a photograph torn in an alley, and he can't blink it away. He wonders how his life got so fucked up in less than forty-eight hours, how things can one-eighty from good to rock bottom so fast.

"How is this even fair?" He sounds like a kid, whining, and he desperately wishes to have nothing but a snapped crayon to cry over.

Javier doesn't answer for a moment.

"Life isn't fair."

"You're giving me fortune cookie wisdom?" His voice is barbed.

Javier gives him a long look. "What do you want me to say?"

He means to stop staring at him, he really does, but Kevin's eyes are suddenly magnet-glued to Javier's and the inevitable snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

Javier lunges across the seat and kisses him senseless, the way they used to mid-sparing match when they were both sweaty and hiding (hard-ons and feelings). It feels natural and wrong at the same time, heavy in his mind, but Javier has a way (had a way) to make him forget what should happen and focus on right now.

They end up in the back seat, and it's rushed and hurried and right-wrong and laced with two year's worth of denial (he bites his lip to stop himself from yelling Javier's name. Javier bites his, too. Neither of them want it to become real.) Afterwards they silently fix themselves up as best they can and drive to the hospital. They blame lateness on traffic and blame Kevin's popped shirt button and a bruise barely hidden by Javier's collar on nothing; everyone is too busy mourning to notice and too raw with emotion to care.

Jenny's hand tightens in his, and Lanie sobs into Javier's shoulder, and Kevin meets Javier's eyes across the room. They form a silent pact. They've never needed words.

He knows they won't talk about it.

Kevin's never expected anything less.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"So, you and Lanie." He smirks and pops the top of a beer bottle. The entire precinct is at the Old Haunt, but somewhere between the second and third round Castle and the Captain had gone to join a pool game in progress and Beckett and Lanie had headed off for girly drinks at the bar, so it's just them in the booth.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit, man. You know exactly what I'm talking about. So tell us enquiring minds about this thrilling new fling."

Esposito sips his beer and smirks. "Thanks for not being sarcastic about this."

"You're welcome," Ryan replies idly, watching Castle beat Montgomery at pool out of the corner of his eye. (Their Captain was apparently a sore loser.) "Just don't screw in the break room and we'll be peachy."

"You make it sound so unromantic."

Ryan fake-stutters. "Javier Esposito, calling sex romantic. Who are you and why have you body-snatched my homicide partner?"

"Seriously, man. I think...I don't know. I think she might be it. You know, like the cheesy movies say?"

Ryan stops with his beer halfway to his mouth. "Wow."

"Says the guy who's engaged. Is Jenny..."

"She's definitely it for me," he says, and it's true. Jenny makes him feel like he's never felt around any other girl before, and he knows that somewhere down the line he wants everything for her, with her. House, kids, dogs, everything the story books babble about.

He just never thought Esposito would be the type to find that, too.

And that's when he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they've finally buried that intangible thing. They're here, and they're both ridiculously happy with someone else, and whatever fooling around they might have indulged in is in the past and is staying there. The revelation doesn't make things awkward. No matter the circumstances they fall into easy camaraderie because...well, they're Ryan and Esposito.

It's going to take nothing short of hell to change that.


End file.
